Mass Effect: Contact
by FuzyDr4G0NZ
Summary: In 2560, just years after the end of hostilities between the Earth based UNSC and the New Colonial Alliance, the Industrial colony of Falkland is slowly being turned into a Fortress as a defense against the perceived Colonial threat. But within months of his transfer to the colony, Lance Corporal David Campbell will find out first hand whether or not the fortress will hold.
1. Chapter 1

**UNSC **_**Red Rover**_**, Darwin System, February 4, 2560**

With a flash of light and exotic, radioactive, particles, the UNSC _Red Rover_ re-entered the normal dimensions of space. As it aligned itself on an intercept trajectory with the second planet from the star, one the two UNSC colony worlds in system, its engines burnt a brilliant blue while smaller thrusters along the bow fired in short, perfectly timed burns to alter the vessels angle of trajectory. Inside the corvettes small cryo-bay, Lance Corporal David Campbell, woke up. Still inside his sealed pod he got a lungful of the frigid cold air. As the curved hatch opened, wisps of fog bellowed out and fell down on to the rubber floor, followed shortly by David himself. Landing on his hands and knees he coughed- violent, wet heaves until the bronchial surfactant oozed out like a long strand of bile.

His cryo training, as short as it was, had done little to prepare him for the gut wrenching feeling and the aches and pains in his joints. He heard the soft slapping of bare feet on the rubberized floor and a small, white towel entered his downward turned field of view.

"Thanks," David coughed. At twenty three David wasn't very old, still a youngster, but having grown up on Earth meant he'd spent most of his time there, not among the colonies.

"You're welcome," a woman's voice, not too much older than his, replied with a slight laugh. "You Army boys are all the same, can't handle a little cold."

David looked up. Like him the woman was naked, her skin shockingly pale. Short, shoulder length red hair was loose and slightly damp. She had a smooth face, small, flat nose and full lips. A faint, jagged scar that ran across her jaw line told him that she'd seen some action. He took the towel and slowly got to his feet, his knees trembling and his head spinning.

"Molly Tilton, Petty Officer Second Class. Corpsman."

That meant she had rank on him. He gave a salute as he responded. "David Campbell, Lance Corporal, vehicle Operator."

Molly laughed at his response, her eyes crinkled and her cheeks puffed, as she returned his sloppy salute with one equally as sloppy.

"Relax," she said. "I'm not one for formalities."

He quickly got dressed, grabbed his stuff and followed the corpsman to the hanger. As they walked into the hanger, the Petty Officer still mocking him for his lack of coordination and service of choice, he noticed a single SKT-24 shuttlecraft taking up the entirety of the _Rover_'s modest hanger. Having entered the ship through its airlock while it was connected to _Victory's Perch_, the large wayward station in geosynchronous orbit over Earth, he hadn't known how small the hanger was. Until now.

"About time!" the shuttle's pilot barked as they stepped aboard. "Sit down, strap in and hold tight." The pilot ordered. The shuttle was nearly full, mostly with other Army personal that were, like him, transfers and most looked even younger than him. There were a few other Navel personal sat by the pilot. _Probably all on shore leave like Tilton. _David thought.

He stowed his gear; a duffel bag and a Bergen. He sat in one of the few remaining seats. He pulled a U-shaped restraint bar over his shoulders as Molly sat in the seat next him and pretty soon he felt the shuttle lower down through an airlock in the hanger's floor before he felt a kick as the shuttles thrusters engage. Most of the other passengers busied themselves with their COM pads or an old fashioned book- the type his father kept plenty of in their countryside Manor back on Earth, but David found himself wringing his hands and straining his neck to try and get a glance of the colony through the clear partitions of the cockpit's canopy. A variety of greens and blue, tan and white layered the land masses, clear as day through the unpolluted atmosphere of this strange, distant world.

"You ever been to Falkland?" Molly asked, raising her voice so she could be heard over the roar of the shuttles engines. David shook his head.

"Yeah. Haven't really done much traveling. been to Reach and Mars. I honestly never knew this place existed until a couple months ago." David replied. "What about you?"

"Once before, a few years ago now. Back when it was just a Marine Company stationed here. Now it's an entire Army Division and Marine Battalion. That's not including the Armoured Brigade. I guess HIGHCOM took the NCA threat seriously out here. "

By now the shuttle was entering the Falklands atmosphere and he could see flickering of orange flames creep up from the bottom of the canopy. With a shudder that caused David's teeth to chatter, the shuttles decent smoothed out and the next thing he knew they were darting east, low over the calm, Blue Ocean. In the distance, far on the horizon, through the glare of the early morning sun, he could make out what looked to be city. So small, at the distance they were, the city's towering skyscrapers looked like fine bristles on a toothbrush.

San Carlos Bay was a metropolis. Four towering orbital elevator tethers rose out from the city's massive industrial zone, like golden pillars stretching up to the heavens and beyond. Lines crisscrossed the city, spreading far out into the surrounding mountain range and beyond, heading for the next major population centre. Darting across the lines were the colonies Maglev trains, some carried large cargo containers, filled with a variety of goods to be transported off-world and onto other colonies. Others pulled thinner, more streamlined, passenger carriages, filled with early morning commuters on their way to work.

Nestled neatly in a long, curving, bay, surrounded by the vast mountains of the Lafonia Highlands and built on both sides of the Chartres River, San Carlos covered the entire delta. Newer estates, both industrial and residential, could be seen through the shuttle's canopy as they flew overhead. Partially hidden by the massive trees that lined the mountains a road snaked its way up the steep massifs.

"Wouldn't you? The Alliance is still a threat. There was no formal declaration ending the war. They're just biding their time, regaining their strength." David said. "Plus the Alliance Parliament have been laying claim to this system for years, ever since they declared themselves a sovereign government back in '26. And because, as I understand it, the people here are pro-UNSC it makes sense for HIGHCOM to defend it. It also makes it a target for the Alliance."

The shuttle was following the Chartres River through a wide valley, flanked on either side by the Highland mountains. Minutes later the topography flattened out into a wide, sprawling floodplain and beyond that was a dense forest.

"I guess. Still not a bad place to be if you ask me. It could be worse, you could end up somewhere like Eridnus II or Tribute. Those places are just bad news."

He felt the shuttle slow down and saw the UNSC base he was being stationed at for the first time. It was hard to tell from the angle but he guessed that the base was the size of a small city. Hundreds of buildings, hangers and depots, parade squares and field training areas. Roads ran throughout, connecting everything together and right in front of them was a large airfield, two long runways crossed at their northern ends and a tall control tower overlooked them both. A flight of F-39 Atmospheric Interceptors lined up- ready for take-off. The heat from their exhaust distorted the view behind them and made the sharp, stealthy angles, of the jets look like a mirage- spectres in the early morning sun. The shuttle slowed and came to a hover and lowered itself onto a designated pad. The small indicator light above the shuttles rear hatch changed from red to green. Outside the air was cold and his breath billowed bone-white. He hadn't expected it to be so cold.

He lined up with the other transfers, most of them Army like him, and waited. They formed three rows of eight. David was at the end, where the Army became Navy. To his left was a younger man, the rank on his collar showed him to be a Private, and to his right was Molly. The shuttle, after it had unloaded its cargo, closed its hatch and lifted off again, back to its parent vessel. Its small, stubby wings looked almost comical on the large, bulbous fuselage as it slowly lifted off; its engines whining loudly.

"Sir, Corporal?" David looked to the private next to him. The small name patch on his breast labeled him as C Taylor.

"Yeah kid?"

"What do we do now? Why are we just stood here?" Taylor asked. Most of the others had started talking to one another, lit up a cigarette and just generally milled about, barely keeping the formation they were in.

"Now we wait," David said with a shrug. During his service on Earth he'd spent plenty of time at different bases. A couple on mainland Europe, three in Asia and two in North America. He'd spent some time on Reach and Mars as well, but not as much as he'd spent on Earth. "Someone will come along and show us where our new accommodation is and then we'll unpack before reporting to our new Commanding Officer."

"I just wish they'd hurry up. It's freezing." The kid replied, shaking his arms and legs to try and keep the blood flowing. David crunched his hands into fists and concentrated on controlling the severe shivers in his arms and legs. He was still sore from his trip in cryo and the frigid air wasn't helping. His joints ached and felt swollen- a common occurrence for people who'd just come out of cryo, a aliment colloquially known as 'freezer burn'.

"You and I both kid but we could be here for a while."

Thankfully they weren't. Half an hour later a Lieutenant, followed by a marine sergeant, walked up to the group and gave a quick introduction.

"Right," the lieutenant said. "I'm Lieutenant Rowkin and this is Staff Sergeant Eton, welcome to Camp Moore. Here's how things work around here; weekends are yours unless you're on exercise or guard duty or told otherwise by your immediate superior. Now, let's show you lot to your accommodation shall we?" Rowkin said. He flicked his head, signalling sergeant Eton forward.

"Marines, Corpsmen," he hollered. "Follow me and we'll get you settled." As he moved off in a fast march, marines in tow, Molly on her way past gave a quick wink and smile which caused him to laugh beneath his breath. Unfortunately for him Rowkin heard and saw everything.

"Don't even think about it trooper. Women like her are all for bone headed marines and you're not a jarhead now are you?"

"No, Sir!" David replied. He struggled to keep the corner of his mouth from curling up into a smile. _Maybe this won't be so bad. _He thought. _Not too bad at all._

**CFM **_**Iron Heart**_**, Theta-Crwys System, September 12, 2560**

The _Iron Heart _was an older Springhill-class mining vessel. Fifteen hundred meters long and capable of strip mining an asteroid in just a few weeks as well as being capable of supplying enough raw material to build a Destroyer squadron. Old ships like the _Iron Heart_ were usually used out in the far reaches of known space, simply because if something went wrong, which was always a possibility, the UNSC wouldn't be losing a multi-billion credit ship that was straight off the production line. Then there was the cost of recovery; it was cheaper to leave an old ship out in space then to mount a rescue on a more modern vessel.

A Springhill-class ship could be described as many things; slow, cumbersome, unreliable. But it was for none of these things that Henry White, Captain of the _Iron Heart_, had decided to stay with the old colonial era vessel. He stayed with it because it was familiar to him. Years ago, when he first joined the Colonial Mining Fleet, his first posting was on the _Iron Heart_- back when she was fresh off the production line. While he had since served on other ships he took the opportunity to finish his career on the same vessel he started on. He knew his ship. He knew every hum, every vibration in the hull and he knew just how far he could push her before she packed in. Some would say he knew the ship better then he knew his ex-wife.

The view from the bridge was, as always, spectacular. He could see the angled hull sloping off to the side as well as the fourteen large, cylindrical, tanks used to house fuel for the smaller, autonomous, mining bots as well as the ship itself. If needed the tanks could also be used to transport gasses, like deuterium or triamino hydrazine. The Milky Way was brilliant background stipe. Running diagonally across the bridge's curved view port. Stars littered the sky- a billion pinpricks of light scattered throughout.

He moved about the bridge, it was dark, the only light coming from the blue holographic terminals and the reflected light off of the moon they were in orbit over. He looked over the shoulders of the crew as he walked past, looking over their reports as they came in. It would be a while before they were done with their operations in system- another couple of weeks at least but there was no particular rush. The UNSC, and before them the CAA, paid per tonne, not by how quickly you got it. Theta-Crwys was also out of the way- a resource rich system that only a few privately owned vessels would risk going into due to its perilously close proximity to Colonial Alliance space. That and reports of ships going missing in the area certainly weren't helping. Especially when one of the missing ships was, according to rumour, an UNSC scout ship.

"Sir," his ship operations officer called out. "Reports from engineering; they say our Slip Drive is going to need an overhaul when we get back. The drive core is cracked."

"Thank you Mr Uberti, I'll make a note." Henry said, taking the data pad from the younger man. He sighed. A Shaw-Fujikawa Slipspace Drive was one of the most expensive things on the market. Even though the _Iron Heart_ could only house an older model, due to her fusion generators not being powerful enough to power a newer one, it would still cost a _lot_ of money to get it replaced. '_Maybe it's time to sell the old girl for scrap'_ He thought sadly. She was, after all, nearly as old as him.

"Ugh… Sir? I've got something on the long range scanners. A ship by the looks of it but I don't recognise the design." The sensor officer announced. Suddenly his worries about the Slipspace drive seemed insignificant.

"IFF?" He asked.

"Negative sir. None detected."

"How many?"

"Five, moving in fast, sir." The sensor operator called out, never taking his eyes off the readouts, his hands a flurry of movement over the controls.

"Try hailing them," Henry ordered. After a tense few minutes of silence his communication officer shook his head. No response. That meant whoever was on board had no interest in talking.

"Cancel the mining operations, get everyone back on-board now!" Henry barked. He watched a display showing the unknown vessels getting closer and closer. If they were going to make it out of there it was going to be close. "Spin up the FTL drive. As soon as everyone's back initiate the jump."

"Aye, Captain."

There wasn't much he could now except wait. He watched still as the five yellow triangles on his display closed in on them. With a quick command he switched the view to the external cameras and zoomed in on the approaching ships. They were like none he'd seen before. Long and sleek with wing-like components folded into their side. Their hulls were whitish silver with red stripes painted along the predatory hulls. What was most visible to him the most was positioned along the ships spine. It was Mass Accelerator Cannon. A MAC. While it looked smaller than the ones typically found on UNSC warships it would still be more than enough to tear the_ Iron Heart _asunder- and they were just about to enter weapons range. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at end and he felt a cold lump in his stomach.

"We're ready to jump, sir!" The Navigation officer said. Her hand hovering over the ignition switch.

"Unknown vessels are opening fire, Captain!"

"Do it! Get us out of here!" He called out. In the time it took for the translight engine to open a hole between the normal universe and the extra dimensions of slipstream space, the first slug impacted along his starboard side. Instead of crashing straight through like he expected the rounds squashed, creating creators in the titanium hull and blowing surrounding sections of hull plating off entirely. Four rounds struck before the full entered Slipspace- one dangerously close to the engineering section of the ship. The ships shook viciously as workstation and power conduits overloaded. The sheer force of the impacts had caused the _Iron Heart _to list- making it a miracle they even got into Slipspace and stayed there. Fires burned as fuel lines were ruptured and the hull groaned from the stresses being exerted on it. The old titanium hull and TR steel superstructure were never meant to handle the pressures of combat.

But they'd made it, that was the main thing and they were on route to the closest colony world. Except with the damage sustained the old girl was even slower than normal. It would at least a week before they arrived in system. If they made it at all.

* * *

**AN; Okay. It's been a while since I've done anything. I have my reasons and most of them are personal. But I haven't been idle I promise. I just lost my momentum and needed to get it back. It's not as easy as you'd think though. Especially when my previous work was as cringe worthy as it was. **

**So try this one on for size and let me know how it fits. So you know, tell me what you think of this. Also I'd like to point out there is no covenant, the species involved don't exist. Forerunners do but their involvement is off-screen. Any and all advances made by the UNSC are made due to the civil war that erupted. (The one that would of happened if it weren't for the covenant. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, chapter two. Leave a review to tell me what you think, I can't improve all that much if you don't tell me what's wrong. Don't be afraid to point out errors, (not the plot ones that are undoubtedly there), just don't be an arse about it. **

**There are some characters here that you can help personalise. If you have an idea for them let me know (a PM will do fine).**

**Eterna1Soldier: Coming from you that is the best thing I've ever seen in my review box ever. Thanks and I hope I don't disappoint.**

**To the guest; I did mention Forerunner involvement was off screen, as in; ONI and the UNSC have been studying Forerunner relics to improve their technology for decades. the civil war was just a catalyst for them to invest in it.**

* * *

**Falkland, Camp Moore, September 13, 2560**

They'd been on patrol for nearly three hours. Through the shrouded woods and along a wide muddy path with a water filled rut on their left. The trail twisted and turned through the tall dark black tree trunks. If the lithe alien trees had thicker coverage like oak trees on earth, David doubted he would even be able to see where they were going. They were all carrying a full load of kit- nearly eighty pounds of gear along with their armour, ammo and rifle. Carrying it for so long in freezing cold wasn't easy but it was compared to some of the patrols and marches he'd done during training. The bottom of his dark green camouflage fatigues was stained with mud and was damp allowing a slow, ghostly chill creep up his leg. His boots were caked in thick mud, he couldn't even see his own laces.

_Just drag 'em through a puddle and that'll wash off the worst of it._

They marched on in a staggered line with a ten meter spread between them. David was second in line. He cast a quick look over his shoulders to see the rest of the squad; Sergeant Cohen was in the middle and Taylor, the private he'd met on their first day on the colony, was at the back acting as the rear guard.

There was a _snap_ and _crack _of air next him, millimetres from his face, as a round flew by followed almost simultaneously by the bark of an automatic rifle. A tall willowy tree to his right was splattered in red paint from a TTR shot. More rounds followed suit. The point man, Private Andrew-Julien Mann, or AJ as most of the group called him, was hit multiple times. The red paint stained most of his left side and he dropped like a sack of bricks- unconscious.

"Contact!" David called out. "Left side, left side!"

He dove on to his stomach, his belt buckle digging into the ground, and rolled into the water filled rut- it was their only cover. He quick glance to his left let him see the rest of the squad, they'd all made into the ditch with him.

"Form a base line!" Cohen shouted over the roar of automatic weapons fire. A grenade went off behind them; too close for comfort but they managed to form a clean firing line. Corporal Griffiths was next to him, a general purpose machine gun, (GPMG), in hand and laying down suppressive fire.

"Griffiths!" Cohen barked over the SQUADCOM. "Take your section and peel right and flank them. We'll stay here and lay down covering fire."

"Got it," Griffiths replied in his heavily accented colonial brogue. Dirt splashed across his face and shoulders, scattered from a round landing just centimetres from him. More grenades detonated, showering the squad with dirt and mud. David steeled himself to run to the right, being part of Griffiths' section, but he'd be the last to move as he was already on the far right of the group. Taylor ducked low and ran as fast as he could through the water while keeping as low as possible.

As he ran past the corporal he kicked his boot- a signal for him to secure his ammo pouches and run. Someone to his left, Merrick, was hit as he put his head up to return fire, as he fell to the ground, unconscious from the headshot, the person next to him had to make sure he didn't fall in the water and drown. Griffiths ran past him, kicking his boot as he did so. David did a quick check on ammo pouch making sure they were secure before making a mad dash to meet up with the others in the section.

As they came to as stop he could still hear Cohen and his section battling it out with whoever had been ordered to play the bad guys this time. He came to a stop but there was no incoming fire aimed at them. Whoever was out there hadn't seen them move.

_Good it'll make it easier._

"Campbell, Taylor, Wilkins and Allie, move up from here. Two by two, yeah?" It sounded like a question but over the months David had gotten to know them all and knew that Griffiths was ordering them, not asking them. It was just the way he spoke. "The rest of us will go further right and flank round behind them."

David nodded in conformation and with the other three in tow he crawled out of the trench and moved to a nearby tree for cover. Taylor was behind him. Allie and Wilkins moved to one to his left. He made a quick motion to the two younger troops indicating for them to move forward while Taylor and he covered them. They moved a hundred meters from the rut like that, a few meters each time two of them moved. By the time they were roughly level with the opposing force some of the fighting had died down.

_Was the sergeant's section wiped out? Or have the enemy figured out we're flanking them?_

"Campbell," Griffiths said over the radio. "We're just getting in position now, you ready?"

"Yes, sir." David replied in a low whisper. "Ready and waiting on your go."

A conformation light blinked in the bottom left of his HUD. He motioned the rest of his fire team to move ahead as one. As quickly as they could without giving themselves away too early they moved closer to the enemy position. Ahead was a fallen tree, its oil black trunk provided cover for a section armed with rifles and a squad automatic weapon, (SAW), they hadn't seen David and his team yet.

"On my go," David said. The others confirmed with an oaky sign.

He lined up the shot, looking down the scope of his MA5D, a small customization he'd made. He aimed at the machine gunners centre mass. _Always aim for centre mass_, his instructors had drilled into him the moment they let him near a rifle. He fired.

The gunner went down as did two others who'd been caught out by Allie or Wilkins. Taylor shot off a burst, hitting two guys in the arms. It would hurt them but not take them out of the fight. More shots rang out before the enemy had a chance to return fire. Bullets flew in from behind the enemy position. The rapid fire cracks of Griffiths' GPMG filled the air. Taken by surprise the enemy section was down in a few seconds flat.

"Sergeant Cohen," Griffiths said into the SQUADCOM. There was a brief silence.

"Yeah? You got the bastards?" Cohen's gruff voice answered back over the radio. David couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief knowing that at the very least the sergeant had made it.

"Yes, sir. Enemy position has been neutralised."

"Good, we're on our way to you now. So who was it?" Griffiths checked over the fallen foes. David got a quick look in and saw who it was.

_Rowkin. Of course._

As Cohen found them, the rest of his section carrying anyone who'd been hit, David set his Bergen down and pulled out a small pad of paper with a tiny pencil wedged into the tight spiral binds at the top. He took down notes about the engagement, everything he'd done before the firefight, what he did during the fight as well as a quick sketch of where the enemy had positioned themselves and the tactics used by the team to counter the ambush. He did it so he could make a more detailed report in his debriefing when they got back to base. By the time he was done it was time to move again. They weren't going to stay in the area just in case Rowkin had another team nearby that might come looking for them and they still had to survive the next three days before the exercise was over. It was going to be a long three days.

It was the dead of night when they marched back through the gates of the base. Falkland's three large moons were partially hidden behind dark clouds. Despite the heavy cloud cover the base was lit by large flood lamps that covered base with bright lights that reminded him of a Rugby stadium during the grand finals. Only there was less noise and celebration.

They were dismissed soon after arriving back with a debriefing at eight the following morning. As David, Taylor, Wilkins and Allie walked back to their rooms in one of the massive multi-story barracks, they passed by a large square filled with armoured vehicles. Grizzly main battle tanks and AS-50 Howitzers were parked in neat rows next to Rhino mobile artillery platforms and Wolverine Anti-Aircraft tanks. Other vehicles were parked nearby as well; M12 Warthogs and M14 Foxhounds were parked into bays of their own. There would be more such vehicles of all classes stored inside the massive motor pool to keep them safe from an unexpected attack. A quick double take revealed that some of the artillery had disappeared. They'd been moved somewhere but there was no scheduled deployments in the coming days that David knew of that would explain it. But it wasn't his place to question.

_Maybe they've been redeployed somewhere else. Or they've been put on the ranges tomorrow._

Neither explanation made sense. Falkland was right on the border with Colonial Alliance held space and was a vital stopping point along the Cygnus-Circinius Shipping route, which made it a strategic waypoint in a war against the Alliance. Why would UNICOM then remove some of the most important assets for a ground war here? Whatever the reason, he guessed the men with stars on their shoulders would know what they were doing.

In the Division headquarters Major General Nicholas Bernard, the commanding officer of all military operations on Falkland, was sat at his desk; a large oak wood piece crafted during the height of the colonial expansion nearly two centuries ago. The dark wood was stained with years of cigar burns and pen scratches. He sat in a leather chair, leaning back with his arms crossed in front of his chest. A decidedly unamused look etched on his withered features. His dark blue-green eyes glared at the younger officer in the room. On the imperial red coloured walls pictures and paintings of previous generals that had commanded the base also seemed to glare at him, equally unamused.

The young officer couldn't help but squirm slightly under the pressure. A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck before being soaked up by his grey officer slacks. Twenty something and with a full head of dark hair he seemed to wither under the generals glare.

"Are you kidding me, son?" Bernard said eventually. His Meridian drawl was deep and thick, showing his displeasure.

"No, sir," The younger officer replied. "ONI believes…"

"I don't care what ONI believes, boy." Bernard interrupted, slamming his fist on the desk. "You came marching in here at the dead of night telling me about how we were under threat. Now you're telling me it's only a possibility? Which is it, boy?"

"General," he tried again. "ONI is aware of a fleet of unknown vessels massing in the Theta-Crwys system. Falkland and Victoria are the closest colonies, which puts them at risk. You have to order an evacuation of all the civilians."

"I have to? Last time I checked I don't take orders from a Lieutenant, no matter who he works for and what makes you think these unknown ships are a threat? For all we know it could be an Alliance fleet or some poor alien bastards with no place to call home." Bernard's accent was getting thick and his voice louder.

"The Alliance doesn't have ships that can travel at FTL speed in _real space_. Nor do they have the manufacturing capability to create a flotilla the size of the entire Eridanus Defence Fleet. And we know they're hostile, sir." The Lieutenant said, matching his gaze with the older mans. "The missing ships? The freighters and cruise liners, all of them destroyed by this fleet without provocation."

Bernard was quiet for a moment. His fingers tapped the desk slowly, like a timer on a bomb counting down to explode. He looked at the younger man with scrutinizing glare. His lips were paper thin, a small white line on an otherwise dark face.

"How exactly do we explain to the forty million people that call this planet home that they need to leave? Better yet how do we get them all off? The answer is we can't!" Bernard glowered at the young man. He had stood up and was leaning over the desk. "If, and it's a pretty bug _if_, these unknowns come here we'll be ready for them- hostile or not."

"General, FLEETCOM is putting the entire sixteenth fleet together just in case. The risk is just too great. We have to evacuate or at the very least open up the emergency shelters."

"Look, lieutenant," Bernard said. "We can't. You said it yourself, we can't tell the public just yet but, if we don't then how do we convince them it's for their own safety and not just the UNSC overreacting? It would cause panic in the streets, riots and violence we don't need or want. If war comes to this colony, which has always been a possibility- the reason we are here- then the citizens will have to deal with it the old fashioned way. Hide under their beds and prey."

There was a deathly silence that followed. The only sound in the room was of an antique clock that _ticked_ loudly. The two men were staring each other in the eye, a battle of wills. It was minutes later when the lieutenant finally backed down.

"I have no idea how you made it into Naval Intelligence, son," said Bernard. "You came in here issuing orders and then issued more that contradicted your previous ones. This must be your first outing without a handler. You can't tell me what to do here boy, but you can show me everything you have on these unknowns. And I mean _everything."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Heyup! Chapter 3! You know the drill by now I'm sure. I feel like something is off with this chapter but I can't put my finger on it. **

**Anyway, let me know what you think!**

* * *

**UNSC Scout ship **_**Mu, **_**September 13, 2560**

His breath was hot and heavy inside his helmet. The darkened visor did little, however, to protect his eyes from the harsh, white lights that filled the ship.

He rounded another sharp corner. The light grey wall next to him lit up in a shower of sparks as rounds impacted next his head. Metal fragments bounced off his helmet harmlessly. Adrien ducked back into cover. There was at least one of the olive drab coloured aliens at the end, taking cover by a bulkhead.

The alien ship wasn't too big, smaller than a frigate but bigger than a corvette. The hanger his team had boarded through was small, barely large enough to fit the shuttle inside. A few of the aliens had opened fire on them and had killed one of his men. His team proceeded to wipe the defenders out. All that was left now was the bridge. The heart and brain of any vessel. His only problem now, other than the few remaining aliens aboard, was finding it. Unlike Turian ships the bridge wasn't located deep in the heart of the structure, surrounded by armour.

He poked his head round the corner cautiously, another one of the armoured aliens had joined the first, and both had their rifle at the ready. They were talking in their strange language, not as liquid like as the Asari, nor as sharp as the Turian or as fast as Salarian speech, it was like a mix of all three. One of them fired at him and the other pulled something out if its armour but he didn't see what as he pulled himself back again.

Something hit the wall opposite him and bounced backwards, landing at his feet. Small and round, a little red light flashed rapidly on it. It might have been alien but he knew exactly what it was.

"Grenade!" he shouted. Instinctively he threw himself away from it, into the alien's line of fire. He scrambled to a bulkhead further down, casting a momentary glance behind him as the grenade went off. Two of his men were engulfed in an orange ball of fire and shrapnel. He heard the screaming of at least one more of his men. His shields popped just as he reached some cover. He peered round again, saw the damage done; two bodies lay in pieces, the armour and flesh burnt together and blackened. He motioned one of his soldiers.

_Overload, now!_

The trooper reached round and fired an overload from his Omni-tool. It hit one of the aliens dead on, sending non-lethal sparks of electricity through its body, designed to take out shields and weapons for a short period. Unfortunately for him, it did neither. The alien, though confused, still fired. The rounds coming too close for comfort near his head as they zipped by.

He grabbed his own grenade and chucked it. He heard the aliens shout in panic and scramble followed by the dull, _thump_ of detonation and then silence. Adrien poked his head round again. Nothing. One of the aliens lay slumped against the wall, its armour charred and shattered. The other was still alive, crawling on its belly, one of its legs missing, the other hanging on by the thread of its uniform.

All he could hear for a moment was his own breathing and his heart thundering in his chest.

He emerged from cover and jogged back to what remained of his team. They were another three men down. Out of the twenty that had come aboard with him, sixteen remained. To Adrien, it was unacceptable losses against a foe that, by all appearances, was inferior to them.

As he walked by, put the alien out of its misery with a simple small burst into its back. He couldn't understand them yet and that one was too far gone to be of any use for interrogation so there was no point keeping it alive and suffering.

Adrien led his team forward, to the front of the ship. Eventually finding the bridge. Inside he found the remainder of the crew. As he breached the thick titanium blast doors he rushed in first. Raising his rifle to his shoulder, aiming reticule up, he jumped through the hole the charges left in the doors. Inside were a dozen of them, all of which had handguns aimed at him, but none fired and neither did he. Curious to see what they'd do next. The rest of Adrien's team piled in, rifles ready. These aliens were different, they lacked the drab armour and instead wore grey cloth that ran from their necks to their feet and their uniform was adorned with gold and silver rank markings he didn't understand. The one with gold braid on his uniform, the apparent leader, raised a hand and said something to its fellows. They looked at him, some with anger, fright and confusion. Universal emotions shown through the eyes. The leader repeated itself, its voice sterner this time and the alien bridge crew lowered their weapons. He had his team round the heavy looking pistols up and escort the prisoners back down towards the hanger.

Adrien and a corporal stayed on the alien bridge. A large view screen opened up a clear, beautiful, view of the stars. He walked around the command centre in a slow, wide, circle, looking at all the control stations and screens, taking it all in. it was all so_ alien._ It was strange. He served the Turian Hierarchy and by extension the citadel council- a diverse and complex multi-species government that worked to the betterment for dozens of species. It was strange because there were dozens of species and each knew the others quirks. They'd been in contact for centuries or longer. But this was new, completely alien, it was first contact and he was shooting them and capturing their ships. Not the best first impressions, but they had broken citadel law.

_Can you break a law you don't know about? Was the General too quick to open fire? What would the Primarch say? What would the council say?_

He tried to stop thinking down that line. Turian's didn't question orders. Lieutenants didn't question Generals. Plus, it was too late now. They'd committed to this action. These aliens would be put down and made into a client race. They certainly had a knack for space travel. Adrien had heard about how the massive dreadnought sized ship had escaped a scouting flotilla by means of a _portal._ The commander had been adamant about that. They didn't use element zero. They didn't use Mass Effect technology. They used portals. He didn't believe the rumours until this ship- the one he'd just captured- had dropped out of one almost right next to the cruiser he was stationed aboard.

He walked over to the command chair in the centre of the bridge and decided to try it out. He liked it. A lot. He could see every station and command over them and he had access to a command station as well as an unobstructed view into space. Unfortunately his peace was ruined by the arrival of tech teams sent over to scour through the ship databases and see what they could get from it. He doubted it would be much, if anything.

Before leaving the alien ship he looked round again from the command seat and noted small holographic projectors next every station with one on a plinth next to the commander's chair. He wondered what they were for. A VI perhaps. Or communications with other ship captains and officers. He didn't know. It was too _alien_ to guess.

* * *

**Falkland, Camp Moore, September 19, 2560**

"…_and in other news, three more freighters have been declared missing in the Shanxi sector. UNSC Naval forces are mobilising to find out what happened to the missing ships."_

David snapped the radio off as he finished zipping his coat up. This afternoon was his and he planned on spending it in the city. He had a date. He grabbed his chatter and keyset from his desk, a small wooden piece that barely fitted in his room. It was cluttered with a mass of holo-stills, three-dimensional pictures of his life. His graduation from school, him in his full dress uniform at his passing out parade and one him and his two older sisters playing on a grassy knoll in a park close to the house his grandparents lived in. He'd only been about four or five at the time and the rugby ball he had looked huge compared to him. Rugby had always been his favourite sport.

He cast a quick glance at the holographic clock on his was, surrounded by posters of topless models, sports cars and an England Rugby Team poster, signed by the entire team of that year. He checked himself over one last time in the mirror hanging on the front of his wardrobe before he left his room, the automatic door locking behind him with a _swish _and _thunk._

He was using an old civilian version of the M12 Warthog, the only difference was it was enclosed and lacked the menacing tusks on the tow bar. He hopped into the large, rusted orange coloured, truck and keyed the engine. He grinned at the sound of the twelve-litre engine growling into life. It wasn't the same as the roar of his own sports car on Earth; an early twenty-first century V-12 machine that had cost him nearly everything he was worth. But it still brought him some satisfaction. He whacked the heater on full as he pulled the all-wheel drive four-by-four out of its parking spot and onto a road that would take him to the main gate. His route took him past the air field and he got a full view of it. Coming in on the shuttle he'd missed the large circular pads that reached deep underground to the main vehicle hanger bay where a full complement of Pelican drop ships, UH-144 and UH-142 Falcons and AV-22 Sparrowhawk gunships.

During the war Camp Moore had been turned into a massive staging area, a command centre for military operations in the area. What he saw now was just the remnants of that operation. But its former glory was being returned slowly but surely as more and more troops were arriving at an almost weekly basis. Two destroyers and a light carrier were in orbit as well, for how long he didn't know but it was somewhat comforting to know there was some form of orbital support should they need it. But as he pulled the borrowed truck onto the main highway a few miles from the base and let the road ware system drive him to the city, he doubted the need for so many men. It seemed, in his opinion, daft. There were multiple bushfire wars going on in the colonies, caused by the massive cultural differences of the people in the colonies. Having nearly twenty thousand soldiers here seemed like a waste.

The main highway took him alongside the river. The traffic was moderate he thought, more than he expected but less than the highways on Earth. A massive truck blew past him, sounding its horn as it did so. In the valley the tall mountains blocked the sun, casting the highway into shadow. The surrounding countryside slowly began to transform from river banks grass fields into a developing residential zone. He passed by an incomplete estate and a primary school which was just finishing for the day. Kids ran up to their parents as they charged out of the school doors in a stampede of tiny bodies, grubby faces and brightly coloured backpacks.

Eventually though the low walls, family sized houses and corner stores slowly turned into towers that got bigger and bigger until they dominated the skyline.

Soon enough he pulled into a car park and walked the rest of the way to his destination; a small sidewalk café that overlooked the long beach at the north end of town. His date, or more specifically _liaison_, was yet to arrive. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the automated dispenser, its voice reminded him of the typical waitress of a New Jersey diner from the old movies in his collection.

He took residence in a seat by the window that allowed him to see over the beach and towards the sea. It was a clear day today and about as warm as it got on the colony, and the people were enjoying it while they could; brightly coloured sail boats and motorboats danced across the cold grey looking water. A pelican sat on standby at the edge of a long, wooden, pier. It's red and white hull bore the symbol of the coast guard.

It was ten minutes before she showed up. He put his chatter down as she walked in, she was more interesting than the news. She grabbed herself a coffee for herself before joining him at the table and they shared pleasantries.

"This is nice," she said. "Small, out the way, not bad coffee."

"I think it's quaint. Plus the chances of anyone we know coming here and finding us are slim. Which is what we agreed upon, isn't it Molly?" Molly laughed.

"True, we don't want Rowkin to find out that his favourite NCO is screwing a Navy girl."

"Well, I wouldn't have called myself his favourite, but essentially, yes. You know what he's like. He'd report it General Bernard and we'd both get put up for it." He enjoyed the time he spent with her, but he loved his career, he didn't want to take too many chances with it. She leaned forward and said in a whisper.

"True, that's why I got us room in a small hotel tonight. What time do you have to back on base?"

He couldn't help himself, he laughed. It was like a classic affair, meeting in a discrete hotel, doing the deed, and being back home in time for supper.

"What? What's so funny about that?" Molly asked, looking almost hurt.

"Nothing, nothing," said David. "Just thought it was a bit funny, you know? Sneaking around, meeting in café's and hotels. It's like we're having an affair, keeping it a secret from our loving spouses." She laughed a little at that.

"When you put it that way then yeah, it is a little funny," she said. "But it's for a reason."

"I know. I get that. Now, let's just enjoy the day, 'eh?" David said, taking a swig from his drink. "How was the stint on Victoria?"

"Boring," she replied with a shrug. Her short, shoulder length hair- way over the regulation length- bobbed every time she moved her head, "It's full of miners and machines. The closest thing to civilization on that rock was the base camp. And it's colder there than it is here. Absolutely horrible place, damn NCA can have it for all I care."

"Sounds like a whale of a time. At least you didn't have Rowkin try to shoot you dozens of times over three days."

"He's a bastard."

"He's an officer from the colonies. He just has a thing against Earth, not enough of one to become a rebel or join the NCA but still, he hates our beautiful home world. Don't know why." David replied with a shrug.

They sat in silence for short while. David was about to ask what else she had planned for the afternoon and evening when a short, high pitched, ringing cut through the air. It was her chatter. With an apologetic smile she ducked off to answer it and when she came back several minutes later, the look on her face was not good.

"I've got to go, a damaged mining ship just jumped into orbit and needs help so the marines are being called in. They also want medical aid hence why I'm going." She said, quickly gathering her things. He tried to ignore the stabbing feeling of resentment.

"Its fine," he forced out. "I understand. We're soldiers, duty comes first."

"I don't know how long this'll take so, don't hold your breath okay?" She said before turning for the door and nearly running out the door. He sighed and shrugged.

_That could have gone better. And a whole lot worse, so overall; not too bad. I've got the rest of the day off, and night. What am I going to do with myself? Screw it, I'll ring the lads, they know the best clubs around here._

* * *

**HSV **_**Abiding Truth, **_**Turian Dreadnought, uncharted space, 2156 CE**

The alien captain sat on a lone chair in the middle of the room, strapped down by its feet and wrists. It had been stripped of its grey and gold uniform and instead wore a plain white shirt that covered its chest but not its arms. It still had the grey slacks on its legs and polished shoes on its feet. For a prisoner, it looked surprisingly calm.

The Turian general entered the room, flanked by the lieutenant that had captured the alien command crew and a guard. Desolas Arterius, a veteran of multiple conflicts throughout council space and a notorious leader known for his preference of action over words, said nothing as he circled the captive like a shark circling its prey. The alien captain just watched through narrowed eyes.

It was a while before Desolas spoke. Calm and smooth, like verbal silk, he spoke with confidence and authority. Something the translator did well to express.

"Do you understand me?" he asked. The captive gave no verbal indication but a light rise of its eyebrow gave it away. It was surprised. "You and your crew are now prisoners of the Turian hierarchy and, as such, we are within our rights to treat you as deemed necessary." Desolas paused for a second, letting it sink in.

"Now, if you cooperate, actions that might seem… _unsavoury _will be avoided. And if you don't we'll make sure you do in the future." He said. "So, first of all, what's your name and rank? You're obviously military, even if it is a primitive military."

"Captain, William D, 098564-47514-WD, commanding officer of the UNSC scout ship _Mu."_

"Interesting. Well, Captain, you're off to a good start. Now, what is your species called? How many worlds does your government have and where is the position of your home world?" Desolas asked. He stood to the captain's right, Adrien to the captains left. The young Turian lieutenant was watching his superior as he worked.

"Humans, that's my people's collective name. Homo sapiens, if you want the proper name. I won't tell you how many worlds we control nor will I tell you the location of our home world. And before you ask, I won't give up military secrets either." The human captain sneered. Baring his small, white teeth, Adrien could only see four sharp, predatory like fangs in his mouth, suggesting that humans, like the Asari, were omnivores. Something that would fascinate biologists throughout the galaxy but also revealed even more about this, so far, unknown species.

"How very admirable of you. But really it is a pointless and trivial exercise, denying me the information I requested." Desolas activated his Omni-tool, his forearm glowing orange as it surrounded itself with a holographic display. A small projection appeared above his wrist. A planet, islands dotted the surface, four space elevators reached out from the surface. A colony for sure, but which? It could have been any of them. Even a navy captain didn't know what every colony looked like. It could even belong to the New Colonial Alliance.

"A scout ship of mine located this just hours ago. Well developed, large population and if the scans are as accurate as I'm sure they are, a large military population as well. You see, _captain,_ the last few questions were merely a test to see your honesty while answering and to see how cooperative you'd be. Perhaps one of your subordinates will be more willing to help. They might stop what you failed to do; stop the invasion of your precious little world."

With that the Turian General turned and went to leave, only stopping long enough to order the guard to take the prisoner back to the brig. The lieutenant stayed. He looked at the captain, trying to figure out the human and vice versa. Eventually though he left, shaking his head and sighing. Then the guard took the captain back to a small cell located somewhere near the ships engineering section.

Adrien Victus, studied the human weapons. Both of them taken from the captured ship. They were primitive, using chemical reactions to propel the bullet. A digital display showed the amount of rounds left in the weapons magazine, currently zero in its unloaded state, and a tactical lamp was fastened underneath the barrel. The side arm was similar, bulky and unwieldy in his three fingered grip.

They were strange, alien, primitive and highly effective. He'd learnt that one the hard way. An overload won't stop them firing and due to their very nature aren't stopped by the standard issue kinetic barrier. A chilling thought. It meant one of his most advantageous pieces of equipment on the battlefield was rendered moot simply by the difference in technology. Irony at its best; more advanced by being less advanced. When this confrontation between people comes to a head, as it is bound to, the Turian losses would be colossal. Unacceptable. Catastrophic. He could stop it though, before it all went too far. He had a friend, one friend located at the heart of the galactic commerce, the centre of civilization and cooperation; the citadel.

He could inform his friend, let him know and warn the council of the impending conflict they could step in and stop it all. His hands hovered over his holographic keyboard, ready to type the message, but he couldn't. The Turian within him. The pride within him, wouldn't allow it. Turians always won. No matter the odds. He sighed, letting his hands fall to his desk. Maybe the human leaders would be smart enough to surrender, like the command crew. Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N; Update! Well, I have reasons, like getting myself a new job, for not updating, but here we go. Another chapter to the story, hope you all enjoy it and you know, leave a review to let me know what you thought. **

* * *

**Falkland orbit, UNSC Pelican Echo-420, 2560**

The first images of the damaged mining vessel came in over the screens in the troop bay of the pelican. Its large, bulky hull looked like a child's toy in the distance, but as they got closer even she could see the damage. The massive engine assembly- a large, bulky mass of fuel lines, coolant pipes and exposed circuitry- was twisted and melted by the extreme heat of the alien mass driver round. There was more damage along the starboard side. Impact craters uncovered the delicate inner workings of the massive mining vessel.

The marines didn't seem fazed at all. Their expression was stoic, their eyes forward, their weapons ready. There was only a small squad of them. The rest of the personal were corpsmen, trained to heal people rather than kill them. Although they could easily do both. Molly caught a quick glimpse of the emblem on the marines shoulder; an upwards facing dagger. They weren't just marines, they were Commandos to boot. It would explain the lack of chatter and banter. They were like any other marines, tough and reliable but they did an extra eighteen weeks of training, focused on fighting on a platoon or squad level against a numerically superior foe or deep behind enemy lines. The only marines with more bragging rights were the infamous ODSTs. Why they were being sent along was a mystery. Surely they had more urgent matters then a simple aid mission to a civilian ship.

The leader, Sergeant Oman, was around the same height as her and was well built. His arms and legs were thick and full of muscle and his face looked nice, almost fatherly. Instead of the white and red helmet that everyone else wore, the Sergeant wore a simple green beret. Molly recognised the badge only thanks to David's endless talk about historic military units and how they were represented in the modern armed forces. And instead of the typical, standard issue combat knife, the commandos all had a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, a dagger nearly a foot long and as identifiable as the badge or beret.

The pelican touched down in the main hanger bay. A small group of miners were there to see them in and as the ramp lowered itself the commandos hopped out first, rifles ready but not up. Mining equipment was strewn about, rushed in and not secured for a FTL jump due to their hasty exit. A brief thought entered her mind;_ how many people were left behind?_

The chief mining engineer, his status shown through the red stripes on the arms and legs of his dust coloured uniform, stepped forward from the small crowd in the hanger. He was tall, as tall as David, his stomach bulged out and hung over his belt, hiding the custom, gold plated buckle. His uniform was stained with oil, grease and other, unidentifiable substances.

"Thank god you're here," he said. "Our med bay wasn't designed for the amount of people that are in there and we only have one doctor on board."

"It's okay, sir," Oman said. He motioned the medical personal forward. "Have someone show them to the med bay." The Sergeant watched as Molly and the rest of the corpsmen were showed out of the hanger.

"What about you?" she head the chief engineer ask.

"You're going to take me to the bridge, to see the Captain."

She didn't hear the rest of the talk, nor did she see them move out towards the bridge. They were led through the empty dark passageways of the ship until they reached the medical bay, carrying all the equipment they could. Inside was the smell of burnt flesh and blood and death. Crewmembers were packed into the small bay and anyone who had even the slightest amount of first aid training was in there, trying to help their shipmates. They got to work. The sight of men and women coughing up their own lungs because of their exposure to the harsh reality of space when the hull was breached was horrifying, even to her and she'd seen men and women torn in half by IEDs planted by NCA forces during the war. Members of the engineering crew were covered in third degree burns and were screaming. Those that were silent were either already dead or had passed out.

They were at it for hours. Going back and forth between the crew. The more serious cases were put on the pelican and transported to a proper hospital and the dead were wheeled off to be placed into the shipboard cryo-tubes but they managed to help the crew. Most of them would have died without their assistance, and those that were still on their feet were thankful for saving the lives of their buddy's.

Molly sat down in the small designated break room and rubbed her eyes to ward off the tiredness of the day. Most of the exhaustion was mental rather than physical; it had been years since she'd seen that many injuries all in one place. She was determined to help people though, it's what got her through situations like that. Her desire to help was the reason she became a corpsman rather than a civilian doctor. The UNSC helped those that needed it out in the harsh and unforgiving expanse. She sat in an aluminium chair next to a table in the corner and put her feet up on the chair opposite. She closed her eyes with the intention of grabbing what sleep she could, who knew just when she would get another chance.

The alarm blared. A shrill ringing erupted throughout the ship and red emergency lights snapped on and Molly nearly fell out the rec room chair in her rush to get up. How long had she been a sleep? Ten minutes? An hour? It didn't matter. What mattered was finding out what happened. She only made it to the door before the marine Sergeant's voice echoed over the ships intercom.

"All hands abandon ship, I say again; all hands abandon ship!" he ordered. "We have confirmed hostile contacts on approach." That answered what was happening. She ran with the crowd- a mix of crew and medics as they went for the closest escape pods.

'_What about the people still in the infirmary? They'll need all the help they can get.'_

She tried to turn against the crowd, a near impossible feat as she was pushed and shoved along into an even bigger mass of people. It was loud, the sound of so many people moving and worrying about the situation almost toned out the alarms. It took her five minutes to fight her way to the med bay where she found the staff wheeling out the patients that couldn't walk and escorting those that could. Still, an extra body wouldn't hurt.

"Molly, Molly!" someone shouted over the crowd. She looked around, trying to find the source until a hand clamped down on her shoulder. It made her jump. The situation was getting to her nerves. They were nearly to the escape pods though, it would be over for her soon.

"Goddamn girl, relax, okay? We need you at the back, there's a few stragglers, we just need help making sure they get to the pods, okay?" Before she could even turn round the speaker was gone. She recognised the voice, a good friend in the corps, but she couldn't see her. Once again, with time pressing against her, she pushed against the crowd. How much time did they have before the hostile contacts were on them? Would they attempt to board the ship? She had her sidearm, but that wouldn't do much good against a mass driver slug if the enemy ships decided to blow the _Iron Heart_ into a million pieces. The injured crowd filtered out and the stragglers were few and far between. She hesitated, casting a quick look over her shoulder in the direction of the escape pods and then back towards the med bay. Did she save herself? Or did she go back for anyone that might still be trailing behind? It wasn't really much of a choice. She went back on herself. The corridors were empty, the red emergency lighting cast a crimson hue on everything, making it look like a scene from a horror vid.

The infirmary was empty and she'd seen no one else. With barely a seconds hesitation she turned to leave. The sooner she was off the ship the better. As she hurried through the now abandoned passageways she felt the floor beneath her rumble; it wasn't the same as the vibrations from the engines as they moved the multi-thousand tonne vessel, but the violent shaking of a ship under fire. Molly more doubled her pace, desperate to make it to an escape pod before the ship was ripped apart and she was cast into the freezing emptiness of space. Past the final corner was a dozen people all trying to cram into the last pod in the area. The entire ship shook violently, throwing her and the others to the floor. The alarms went silent and power conduits exploded, causing the lights to cut out, plunging them all into a thin red mist of the emergency lighting. The metal bulkheads groaned and screeched as they struggled to hold together as the ship was torn apart by the enemy kinetic rounds. In just seconds the situation had gone from bad to worse and everyone was scrabbling for a place on the pod, even her.

There was a loud, soul crunching shriek of metal before the room around her exploded. The passageway was split in two near the far end and the air blasted out in a deafening roar. The air in her lungs was forced out- leaving her breathless and in agony as her body was ripped apart on the inside from the force of its expulsion. She, along with everyone else, was blustered out into the abyss, their bodies drifted away, ignored by the hostile alien fleet as they moved in on the two colonies.

**UNSC Camp Moor, Command and Control Centre, Falkland 2560**

As soon as the alien fleet arrived in system the base had been on high alert. Inside the command bunker, a series of tunnels and rooms located half a mile under the base, General Bernard and his staff began planning on what course of action to take if the aliens started landing troops on Falkland. Bernard stood watching over the chart table, a three-dimensional representation of orbit that was so finely detailed he could see the bodies of men and women that had still been on board the _Iron Heart_ when the alien fleet tore it to pieces. A few of them had IFF tags on them, soldiers he'd sent up there to help out the damaged craft.

The chart was lidar imaging combined with real-time data from orbital cameras and sensors. It allowed him and his staff to see everything the enemy fleet did and react to it before the aliens knew it. Around him was a hive of activity; men and women, enlisted and officers, worked to organise troops and armour for the inevitable attack. The only thing they were all left wondering was where the aliens would land. It could be anywhere; from the frozen poles to the small archipelago islands a thousand miles from the coast where they wouldn't immediately be harassed by UNSC defences. Or wold they land in the cities? Make a push straight for the major population centres? It all depended on what the enemy goals were. And even the best sensors couldn't predict a completely alien threat.

"I told you general, the colony _is_ at risk," Bernard didn't give the blonde ONI officer a sideways glance.

"Well, let's just hope the information ONI gathered is just as reliable then," the old general said in reply. The officer looked at him and waited. Bernard had already organised his artillery and armour into the hills surrounding Camp Moore and San Carlos Bay and recalled all troops back to camp. There wasn't much more he could do until the aliens made their move.

It wasn't long before they made it.


End file.
